


berenstein

by bfunsolvable



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bfunsolvable/pseuds/bfunsolvable
Summary: this is the longest fanfic i’ve ever written LMAO...... anyways..... standrew time loop! titled after the song by the band camino. would highly recommend listening to before/after reading. if there are any typos... no there aren't <3
Relationships: Andrew Ilnyckyj/Steven Lim
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	berenstein

**_THURSDAY_ **

If Andrew could be granted just one wish, he would have it rain. Sure, it’s a relatively weird thought — passing up sunny and seventy-five, a downright beautiful day in Los Angeles, for a thunderstorm; but maybe then, just maybe, it would give Steven a reason to stay.

It would be a sign of some sorts. You know, telling him that chilly New York would always be there, but _this_ , Andrew, LA, their careers, would not.

However, it seems that he’s the only one already grieving for something that has yet to come. A little after ten, he’s woken up by a flurry of text messages in their (ex-)Buzzfeed employee group chat.

Everyone is wishing Steven safe travels and telling him to send pictures of his fancy Bushwick apartment, and nobody is asking him to stay.

How can Andrew be the one to?

Short answer: he can’t.

Really, Andrew has never been able to tell Steven _no_. It’s just not in the cards. Not when he was first asked to join a new food show as a replacement for a certain busy Try Guy, and unfortunately not when he got a text message that made him stop breathing a little over three weeks ago:

_Hey, Andy. Would you be able to drive me to the airport for my flight? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I would rather the last LA face I see be yours rather than some Uber driver. :^)_

So, you know, here Andrew was.

Regretting having agreed and sitting in his car, which is parked in front of Steven’s apartment building. He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and when he spots Steven wheeling two suitcases out of the front door and a backpack slung over his shoulders, Andrew even contemplates driving away.

If Steven misses his flight, he can’t leave.

That’s how these things work, right?

Andrew heaves a sigh as he steps out of the car. “Hey,” he says, lifting the hood of his trunk. Like a gentleman, he loads the two bags into the car, briefly wondering if the going away gift Andrew bought him is in either of them, or if it was shipped ahead like the rest of Steven’s stuff.

“Hi, Drew.”

Steven lifts one of his hands into an awkward wave, and Andrew responds with a smile as he slams the trunk closed.

“There’s still a few hours left before I need to be at the airport,” Steven comments, walking over to the passenger door. “Maybe we can grab lunch or something, if you’re up for it?”

Andrew sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth. Before he knows it, he’s plastering a fake smile onto his face as he nods over-enthusiastically.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, closing the car door behind him and buckling his seat belt. “ That sounds great.”

“One last outing for the ol’ Worth It boys.” Steven gives him a wide smile, a proud smile, and Andrew wonders how he’s supposed to continue living day-to-day when his heart will be on the other side of the country.

The drive to their go-to restaurant is filled with silence. Steven’s hand rests comfortably beside him, palm facing upwards as if just _daring_ Andrew to grab it and intertwine their fingers together.

He doesn’t.

Instead, as he drives, he forces himself to think about the outcomes that would come from that action, neither of them good.

One: He holds Steven’s hand. Steven realizes that Andrew has been in love with him for years now. Their friendship is ruined and nothing is ever the same.

Two: He holds Steven’s hand. Steven realizes that Andrew has _also_ been in love with him for years now. Their friendship is ruined by the realization that they are simply out of time. Nothing is ever the same.

Overwhelmed, Andrew merely adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and tries to ignore the ache in his heart. “Are you excited?” He asks, trying to break the tension in the car.

When the car slows to a stop at a red light, Andrew takes the moment to cast a glance over at Steven. He’s wearing his glasses — a truly underrated Steven look, if you were to ask Andrew, and an oversized sweater. Even once the light turns green, Andrew doesn’t want to look away.

There’s not much time left.

“Yeah,” Steven says, and Andrew can _hear_ the smile in his voice. “Nervous, but excited. Can’t believe the time is finally here.”

“You and me, both,” Andrew mumbles, pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot.

Ironically, it’s the very first place that he and Steven had gotten lunch together outside of the office. It’s also the very first place that Steven accidentally brushed their hands together while eating, and Andrew watched his entire life get rearranged before his very eyes.

He thinks it’s only fitting that it’s the last place, too. 

And, really, Andrew knows he’s being dramatic; he knows that Steven literally has to come back, given bullshit Buzzfeed contractual obligations.

But — it’ll be different. It’ll be different because Steven will be there for _work_ and not for him, and Andrew doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle it.

“I’ll miss eating here,” Steven says softly, drawing Andrew out of his mind.

Something in his voice makes Andrew look over at him, only to find that there’s a look in his eyes that Andrew has never seen before. Part of him hopes that it, whatever _it_ is, is enough.

It’s not.

“We’ll have to eat here when I come to visit,” Steven finishes, fingers finding the door latch. “Like a tourist thing.”

“Are you still able to call yourself a tourist if you’ve lived here for years?” Andrew steps out of the car, joining him in the warm California sun.

“Well, what would you call it?” Steven asks, turning around to face Andrew. The rays of sun shine brightly, enough so that Steven has to squint in order to focus on his friend’s face. The corners of his mouth quirk up into a smile, and it’s an image Andrew wants to commit to memory.

“I don’t know,” Andrew says.

And with that, they head into the restaurant.

✩✩✩

“Do you remember,” Steven starts once they’re comfortably seated in a back corner booth, he’s nuzzled too close to each other for Andrew to think clearly — a fact of which is not helped when he leans in so that he can be heard over the hustle and bustle of the busy building, “our trip to Vegas last season?”

Andrew furrows his eyebrows, unsure of where Steven is going with this. Still, he smiles as he thinks back. It’s one of his favorite memories of the three of them over the years.

“You mean, the time I got stuck in the car for almost four hours with your bad jokes and Adam’s terrible junk food gas?” He asks, jokingly. “Vividly.”

Steven hums, an almost _yeah, that’s the one_. “It was fun, though,” he says, finger trailing over the rim of his water glass, “wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Andrew confirms softly. “Yeah, it was.”

The urge to talk fizzles out after that, both enjoying being in one another’s company but neither feeling the pressure to prod for a conversation. Still, lunch seems to pass in a blur for Andrew, because before he knows it, he’s paying the bill and they’re back in the front seat of his car.

“Where should we head now?” Steven asks, clasping his hands together. He looks at Andrew expectantly, head tilted to the side and the ghost of a grin, as if he has all of the answers.

There’s still several hours before Steven needs to be at LAX, and Andrew plans on using every minute of it. So:

“I have an idea,” he says, sliding the gear shift into reverse. Despite Steven’s questioning, he doesn’t reveal any more about his plan during the short drive.

Ultimately, he takes Steven to the Santa Monica beach on a whim. Neither of them are really dressed for it, if their jeans are any indication, but when he remembers there are no beaches in Bushwick, the decision makes itself.

The beach is understandably crowded — but Steven luckily spots a semi-secluded area close to the water, and there they sit.

It’s warm outside and Andrew has to periodically wipe the sweat from his forehead, but ultimately he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Between the background noise provided by teenagers and tourists alike, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, and Steven on the blanket next to him, the impending storm of _sadness_ is hardly a thought in his mind.

That, of course, lasts for approximately four and half minutes; that is, it lasts until Steven sighs and leans backwards on the blanket, stretching his arms behind his head. His stomach peaks out from underneath the sweatshirt and it takes all of Andrew’s self-control to tear his eyes away.

“I’m going to miss this.”

There are a number of ways that Andrew contemplates answering, each one its own version of telling Steven that he doesn’t have to go. After a moment, though, he settles on a simple, “I bet.”

The two of them sit like that for over an hour, silently enjoying the last remainder of their time together. Eventually, however, all good things must come to an end. This included.

Steven pulls his phone from his back pocket to check the time. He sighs a little at the realization that they need to leave soon.

“Andrew,” he mumbles, nudging the man next to him, who’s been quietly staring at the water for several minutes now. “We should probably get going in a few.”

“So soon?” Andrew asks, breaking his focus to look at Steven. The question itself is an attempt at a joke, but it falls short when his voice cracks on the last word.

“I’ll miss you, Andrew,” Steven says, in a moment of seriousness. He pulls him in for an awkward, one-armed hug, sliding his hand across Andrew’s shoulders. Both of them notice how their sides fit against one another perfectly, but neither of them say anything.

Instead, Andrew falls into the embrace, as best he can while sitting, at least. He grasps at the fabric of Steven’s sweater and silently prays to any deity listening to just make him _stay_. He’s not ready to say goodbye. Really, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.

It’s selfish, he knows, to want Steven to stay behind just for him. That’s why he could never ask him to stay, even if the answer is no; even _though_ the answer is no.

Steven deserves more than that.

So, ever the supportive friend, he stands and brushes the sand from his jeans. “Here,” Andrew says in typical monotonous tone, extending his arm to help Steven up, who replies with an enthusiastic _thanks, Andy!_

✩✩✩

Forty-five minutes later, Andrew is painfully watching as Steven digs through his backpack for his wallet and printed plane ticket. He rocks nervously on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. The business of the airport itself blurs into the background as he tries, and fails, to accept what’s about to happen.

“Ah, here it is.” Steven holds the leather wallet up with a wide smile, shaking it in the slightest. “Thought I’d forgotten it somehow,” he jokes.

Before he has a chance to talk himself out of it, Andrew is throwing his arms around Steven in yet another hug. He buries his face into the crook of his best friend’s neck, finding comfort in the familiar scent of Tide laundry detergent and, well, just _Steven_.

“I wish we had more time,” he says, the words muffled by the fabric of Steven’s sweatshirt.

(His heart breaks just a tiny bit more when Steven says **_I know_** )

Andrew doesn’t meet his gaze when he pulls away from the embrace — he can’t, mostly out of fear that he’ll burst into tears like a fucking baby. Instead, he nods; an Ilnyckyj version of heartfelt goodbye, and waits until Steven is somewhere in the _American Airlines_ security line to look up.

Andrew’s gaze finds him almost instantly, only to see that Steven is already watching him closely. They both raise their hand to wave one last time, and then Steven disappears into a larger crowd and it’s officially time for Andrew to head home.

Alone.

When he crawls into bed that night, with tear-stained cheeks and an absolutely shattered heart, it takes all of his willpower to not search for flights to Newark.

 _Out of curiosity_ , he tells himself. _Of course._

Over anything, there’s a noticeable weight on his chest — but there is one thing that he realizes he was wrong about though; saying goodbye at the airport wasn’t the hardest part.

No, the worst, most painful realization comes in the fact that Andrew truly has no idea when the next time he’s going to get to see Steven’s face again is, or have the opportunity to hear his infectious laugh in person.

And _that_ is the thought that causes the next round of tears, as he sniffles quietly in his otherwise silent appartement.

It’s no surprise that, when he finally drifts off to sleep an hour later, his dreams are filled with nothing but reunions.

**_THURSDAY • TAKE TWO_ **

****

Fate can be a funny thing sometimes. Those sly minxes, Lahkesis, Atropos, and Clotho. In all honesty, Andrew never believed in it, really; the concept of destiny. It always seemed like a cop out to him.

But, as it turns out, the universe would beg to differ, causing him to see Steven far sooner than either of them had expected.

When Andrew wakes up the next morning, there’s no dehydration headache pounding behind his temples, which he is very thankful for; but there’s also no “I made a mistake. I love you. I’m coming back” text from Steven — so, you know. Win some, lose some.

Only, there _are_ several more going away texts from their old friends and coworkers:

**ZACH**

Today’s the big day. Have fun in the Big Apple!

**QUINTA**

Good luck, Steven!

**RYAN**

Don’t go in the parks at night.

**RYAN**

I hear you’ll get stabbed.

Andrew frowns as he rereads the notifications, even going as far as to sleepily drag his hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up fully. They’re the same set of messages that he’d woken up to _yesterday_ , he notices, but when he tries to scroll up in the conversation to confirm, there are only messages from Wednesday.

“That’s weird,” he mumbles to himself, but it’s far too early in the day still to come up with an explanation, so he simply tosses the phone onto the pillow next to him.

That is, until approximately two seconds later when there’s a follow-up _ding_ : a text from Steven.

**Thanks, you guys! I’ll send pics of the new apartment tomorrow.**

_Having the weirdest déjà vu right now,_ Andrew decides to type to Steven, outside of the groupchat. _You’re still in LA?_

**I was just about to message you!**

**But yeah? I am. Are you still free to take me to the airport later today?**

Okay, so yesterday—or what Andrew _thought_ had been yesterday, it seems—has turned out to be nothing more than a bad dream. An incredibly realistic one apparently, but a dream nonetheless: Steven is still in LA, for now at least, Andrew _hasn’t_ made a completely embarrassing show of emotion in the middle of a crowded airport, and everything is as it should be.

It makes sense, he supposes. If he’s being completely honest with himself, it’s not like he hasn’t been living this nightmare since Steven announced his plans to move several months ago. But, at the end of the day, at least he gets to see Steven one last time.

_Yeah, about to shower now and then I’ll head out. Lunch?_

**You read my mind.**

A half an hour later and he finds himself in front of Steven’s apartment building once again. He frowns when the man in question wheels a couple of suitcases out of the front door, wearing an eerily familiar outfit.

 _Okay, that’s weird. But whatever,_ he thinks.

“Hey,” Andrew says, as he steps out of the car. He tries to ignore the weird feeling the interaction brings him, instead focusing his attention on the luggage as he loads them into the trunk of his car.

“Hi, Drew.” Steven lifts one of his hands into an awkward wave. “There’s still a few hours left before I need to be at the airport,” he continues, walking over to the passenger door. “You still want to get lunch?”

“Uh, yeah,” Andrew mumbles. “Sounds great.”

“One last outing for the ol’ Worth It boys.” Steven gives him a wide smile, a _proud_ smile, and Andrew absolutely freezes at the statement. Outfits and text messages are circumstantial evidence at best, but he _knows_ that he’s heard that before.

What the fuck is going on?

“You alright there, Andrew?” His friend asks, turning to face him. There’s a small frown playing at the corners of his mouth, and he looks genuinely worried.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Better call Ryan and Shane,” Andrew jokes, trying to make light of his weird behavior. When he’s met with only a raised eyebrow in return, he sighs, “Seriously, I’m alright, Ste. Having a weird morning so far, that’s all.”

****

For the most part, the drive to their go-to restaurant is filled with silence. Steven’s hand rests comfortably on the seat beside him, and Andrew distinctively remembers having the urge to reach over and interlock their fingers together.

But he didn’t yesterday, and he doesn’t today.

Instead, as he drives, his mind wanders and he begins to think about the likelihood of the events of yesterday happening all over again and realizes that there are only two possible answers.

One: That Andrew did, in fact, wake up the day before, pick up Steven, and take him to the airport, making today a repeat.

Or, the more likely of the two: That Andrew is positively going crazy and reading way too far into this. The familiarity of it all, of _Steven_ , is just because Steven is his best friend in the entire world and because they’ve done this, afternoon pickups and overpriced brunch, a hundred times.

Overwhelmed, Andrew merely adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and once more tries to ignore the ache in his heart. “Are you excited?” He asks, trying to break the tension in the car and still his frantically beating heart.

Like clockwork, the light in front of them turns yellow and Andrew slows to a stop. He takes the moment to cast a glance over at Steven. “I feel like you just wore that.”

“Hm?” Steven hums out, looking down at the sweatshirt. He pulls some of the material between his fingers, then turns his attention back to Andrew. “No, I just bought this last weekend.”

 _Huh_. Andrew could’ve sworn...

Nevertheless, he shakes his head, trying to make everything fall into place. It’s been a real confusing morning, to say the least.

Does it still count as déjà vu if it's been going on for hours? When does it stop being familiar and start being, well, alarming?

“Maybe I saw it online or something,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, maybe,” Steven agrees with a shrug. There’s a brief moment of silence before he remembers Andrew’s original question and speaks up for a second time. “But yeah. I am. Nervous, but excited. Can’t believe the time is finally here.”

 _You’re telling me_ , Andrew can’t help but to think as he pulls into the crowded parking lot.

“The first place we ever ate together as friends.” Andrew nods towards the building.

“Seems like such a long time ago.” Steven sighs. “I’ll miss eating here, you know,” he adds, softly. “We’ll have to eat here when I come to visit.”

His fingers find the door latch.

“Like a tourist thing,” both Steven and Andrew say at the same time, much to the latter’s absolute horror.

Steven, on the other hand, finds the situation hilarious and breaks out into a loud laugh: “Jinx! You owe me a soda.”

And with that, Steven pushes open the car door and steps out into the warm California sun.

Andrew has no choice but to follow.

✩✩✩

“Do you remember,” Steven starts once they’re comfortably seated in a back corner booth, but this time, it’s not just the closeness of their bodies that’s causing Andrew to have difficulty thinking clearly — though the situation is not helped when Steven leans in so that he can be heard over the loud background noise, “our trip to Vegas last season?”

“This is the weirdest fucking day,” Andrew blurts out suddenly. He shakes his head and lets out an incredulous laugh, before dragging a hand over his face.

“Huh?”

“Well,” Andrew starts, stalling for a moment as he tries to think of an explanation that actually makes sense. You know, sans any weird claims of repeating days. “With you leaving and stuff, you know?”

His friend makes a noise and nods his head, a wordless agreement. “I get it.” He smiles, finger tracing the edge of his glass. “We’ve had some fun though, haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” Andrew answers softly. “Yeah, we have.”

The rest of the afternoon follows yesterday — or, you know, what Andrew had _thought_ was yesterday or imagined and/or dreamed about. Whatever; he’s still not entirely sure what’s going on. Either way, the remaining time that Steven has in LA passes with ease, in a more or less unsettling sort of way.

Soon, they’re on a towel somewhere at the Santa Monica beach, Steven relaxing next to him, eyes closed and looking positively beautiful, and Andrew is both sweaty (as usual) and confused.

Then, Steven pulls his phone from his back pocket to check the time, sighs, and nudges Andrew, before saying something about how they should be leaving soon.

Andrew just nods, not breaking his intense stare at the ocean water in front of them. Finally, he clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re probably right.

“Are you okay?” Steven asks, frowning. “You’ve seemed a little out of it all day.”

“Ask me again tomorrow,” Andrew says. The joking nature of his words gets lost in translation, as Steven just looks at him, confusion, and perhaps worry, written on his features.

“I think I’m just starting to realize how much I’ll miss you,” Andrew tells him, opting for a moment of sincerity.

 _That’s all this is_ , he tries to convince himself. It’s his mind trying to cope with the fact that his friend is leaving.

Nevertheless, the statement causes Steven to smile at him. He pulls him in for a one-armed hug, the best he can do while sitting down, hand sliding across Andrew’s shoulders. “I’ll miss you, too, Andy.”

“I know.” He says in response, once they’ve both pulled away from the embrace. He stands up, trying to ignore the way his eyes burn with unshed tears. Andrew takes a deep breath to steady himself, and sticks his hand out to help pull Steven up.

(He _does_ know, though. Really. Andrew likes to think that he’s always had a knack for understanding the unspoken between the two.)

Forty-five minutes later, Andrew is yet again painfully watching as Steven digs through his backpack for his wallet and printed plane ticket. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans, and he takes the moment to check out the other people flurrying around the airport lobby.

“Ah, here it is.” Steven holds up the leather wallet with a wide smile, shaking it in the slightest. “Thought I’d forgotten it somehow.”

Andrew forgoes the hug this time around, instead offering a forced smile and a casual wave. He does, though, watch as Steven makes his way to the American Airlines security line. He even watches as Steven disappears into the crowd, lost in a sea of tourists trying to find their way home, and then it’s time for Andrew to do the same.

Alone. Again.

When he crawls under the covers that night, there is no ounce of self control left to avoid googling flights into New York City. He finds a United flight leaving tomorrow morning and even goes as far as putting in his payment information before exiting out of the app and clicking the lock button on his phone because — really?

What’s his plan? To show up on Steven’s doorstep, unannounced, telling him that he should come back to LA? _That’ll_ go well.

 _This will all make sense tomorrow,_ he thinks, plugging in his phone and placing it on his nightstand.

Sleep comes quick, this time around. Before he can think about anything else, his eyes are falling shut and darkness washes over him.

**_THURSDAY • TAKE THREE_ **

The morning of day number three goes something like this: Andrew wakes up to the sound of his phone going off and frantically checks the notifications on his lock screen, only to see that the obnoxious date and time reads Thursday the 27th, along with a handful of unread messages in their group chat.

“Fuck,” Andrew groans out dramatically, before flopping back onto his mattress. Two times in a row may be déjà vu but three — nuh uh, he’s watched too many movies to not understand what’s happening.

The only answer is that he’s stuck in a motherfucking time loop. Either that, or he’s really, incredibly, _undoubtedly_ crazy and should maybe check himself into a hospital when all is said and done.

 _Hey, Andy_. The text from Steven reads — just like the first day. Standard Uber-adjacent business, asking when Andrew will be on his way.

**About to shower and then will head out.**

Instead, though, he doesn’t — shower, that is. Like the mature and fully capable adult he is, Andrew grabs the pillow next to him and smashes it against his face. He yells into it for a moment or two, the sound muffled by the fabric. When he’s finished and feels sufficiently less stressed about the situation, he sits up.

Loop or not, Andrew unfortunately agreed to drive Steven to the airport. Once, at least; he’s not sure how favors work when there are infinite Thursdays.

Still, he’ll be damned if he disappoints.

Andrew steps out of the car with a groan. Third time's a charm, as they say. “Steven,” he says, by way of greeting. He opens the trunk of his car to load Steven’s bags, before pausing to pat the top of the smaller one.

“Is the gift I got you in here?” He asks, deciding that he might as well ask since Steven is unlikely to remember their interaction tomorrow. At least he’ll know. “Or did you send it ahead?”

“Hi, Drew.” Steven greets with a laugh, furrowing his eyebrows at the question. Then, he motions to the open trunk with his free hand.

“It’s in the smaller one.” Steven smiles. “You know, I wanted to keep it close to me at all times.”

The sweetness of his words makes Andrew swoon just a little, but he only lets out a _huh_ in response. “Oh, cool,” he says finally, shutting the trunk.

“There’s a few hours left before I need to be at the airport,” Steven says, almost as if cued, leaning against the back of the car. “Maybe we should grab lunch or something?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Andrew nods, moving over to the driver’s side. “Great idea. What are you thinking?”

Steven thinks the question over as he buckles his seatbelt. “Oh!”

He turns to Andrew. It’s no surprise to the latter when Steven suggests the place that they’ve eaten at for the last two days. Even though Andrew had known it was going to happen, he still audibly groans, which earns a curious gaze from Steven.

“I just ate there,” Andrew explains vaguely.

“What?” Steven asks, mouth falling agape as he looks at Andrew. “I can’t believe you,” he continues jokingly. “You know that’s our place! Don’t tell me you took somebody else there, Andy.”

Despite the circumstances, Andrew smiles at that. “I could never,” he promises sincerely. “How about this, though. I have an idea. And before you ask: don’t. It’s a surprise.” As he says the last word, he wiggles his fingers in a semi-jazz hands movement.

“Sounds good to me.” Steven laughs. “Here we are, though. One last outing for the ol’ Worth It boys.”

“How’d I know you were going to say that?” Andrew asks. It’s a joke but — is it? How _did_ he know that Steven was going to say that?

Because he’s now said it three Thursdays in a row and when Andrew picks him up tomorrow, he’ll probably say it again? Yeah. That sounds sane enough.

“You know me, I guess.”

“You may be right.” Andrew smiles.

Though he had admittedly dreaded the afternoon, the events and not the company, of course, Andrew makes a point to mix up the rest of their time together. He starts by taking Steven to another restaurant on the other end of town for lunch and, when that’s over, he decides that they should check out one of his favorite museums.

Steven, none the wiser to their change in schedule, spends the day casually bumping his shoulder against Andrew’s and talking about how much fun he’s having. A good sign, thankfully.

The two of them are halfway through the exhibit on the fourth floor when, as expected, Steven pulls out his phone to check the time. He opens his mouth to speak but, before he can say anything, Andrew interrupts.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s probably time to get going, huh?”

“My mom told me that you should always be at least three hours early for your domestic flights.” Steven smiles. “Four, if possible.”

“Sound advice,” Andrew says with a laugh.

“You know, I’m really going to miss you, Andrew,” Steven says, pausing in the hallway of the museum to turn and face him. He pulls him in for a tight hug, both arms this time, head leaning against Andrew’s shoulder.

“I know.” Andrew says, pulling away only seconds after. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Neither of them really speak again until nearly an hour passes, and they’re standing in the middle of LAX. Steven searches through his backpack, and Andrew contemplates buying him a 90’s style wallet chain for Christmas. You know, to avoid any more misplacements.

“See you tomorrow, Ste.” Andrew sighs, only to inevitably, and understandably, be met with a look of confusion. _Duh_ , he thinks.

“I meant — talk. I’ll _talk_ to you tomorrow. Because you’ll be in New York. You know that, obviously. Duh.” He stutters through the explanation, and is more thankful than ever when Steven writes off his nervousness and begins the walk over to the security line.

Andrew forces himself to meet Steven’s gaze this time, watching as he wheels the two suitcases into the crowd of people.

Sure, it might break his heart every night, that in the end, he wasn’t enough to make Steven stay, but he supposes the upside to that is when he wakes up, he’ll find Steven only thirteen blocks away.

For now.

Andrew exits the airport and makes his way to the parking lot, car keys jingling in his hand. He’s hesitant to drive home, knowing that only more hurt waits for him in the form of never-ending goodbyes.

He leans against the driver’s side door, back pressing uncomfortably against the handle. He pays no mind to this, though, only turning his attention to the cloudy night sky above.

“Why is this happening to me?”

He doesn’t expect an answer — and, frankly, would probably piss his pants if he received one (he imagines a booming voice from the Heavens, a rather terrifying thought).

Still, he stares at the sky until he feels that people are starting to notice the weird man having a (mid?)life crisis in the parking lot, and heads home.

_Time to see what tomorrow brings._

**_THURSDAY • TAKE FOUR_ **

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Andrew is starting to lose his mind. You know, more than usual. The date on his phone childishly taunts him, reading Thursday for what feels like the millionth time in a row.

By now, he’s got the schedule of the day down on lock. Andrew knows what to expect, mostly, and there are no surprises left. A boring existence, if he’s being honest.

Any second now and:

Ding!

_Have fun in the Big Apple!_

Ding!

_Good luck, Steven!_

Ding! Ding!

_Don’t go in the parks at night._

_I hear you’ll get stabbed_

Andrew fucking hates this, he truly does. Deep down, he knows that he had wanted more time with Steven, but like this? Jeez — wait.

That’s it.

Andrew shoots straight up in his bed, an action which causes the blood to rush to his head and make him feel only slightly woozy. His heart is beating wildly in his chest and finally, he understands.

Nobody did this to him. Well, except for himself. Thursday, the first Thursday, after hugging Steven goodbye, Andrew had said:

“I wish we had more time.” He mumbles the words aloud to himself, though the words taste bitter in his mouth this time around.

Really, though, he supposes. He had gotten his wish. In a fucked up, morally ambiguous kind of way. At the time, he had. Wanted more time, that is. Obviously, saying goodbye is never fun. Especially not when the person you’re saying goodbye to is the guy that you’ve been in love with —

Wait.

What?

Almost as if summoned by the cruel universe, and purely at the expense of Andrew’s happiness, there’s another _ding_ , with a new text message from Steven.

_Hey, Andy! Just wondering when you’ll be coming around._

“This is… way too much to deal with.” Andrew shakes his head, trying to sort through the thoughts speeding through his mind. Despite his confusion, he thumbs back a half-hearted “ **be there soon!** ”

In the end, Andrew changes into a different outfit, opting for a casual pair of sweatshirts and a sweatshirt that he’d borrowed from Steven one night instead of his normal combination of jeans and button-up.

As he dresses, his mind circles the morning’s subconscious revelation.

Love? Where did _that_ come from?

And, sure, okay, he may have had a tiny crush on Steven when the show first started. That much was obvious to anybody with a working set of eyes, but he never said anything about love.

That was ridiculous.

(Though no more ridiculous than being stuck in an infinite Thursday, he supposes. Which — by the fucking way — was just icing on top of the cake. Not even a cool day, like Friday, but just at the edge of a weekend.

 _Forever_.

He’s pissed.)

Andrew sends a follow up “ **omw** ” after he picks at his breakfast, a day-old ( _five_ day old? he’s still unsure about the whole aging aspect of this situation) muffin, before heading across the neighborhood to Steven’s apartment.

When he finally arrives, he steps out of the car with an all-too familiar _hey_. He pops the back of his trunk, eyes trailing over Steven’s outfit.

Despite having seen him in it daily for the better half of a week now, he can’t deny that Steven looks good.

Shit.

Okay, so maybe his subconscious this morning was onto something.

“Hi, Drew.” Steven lifts one of his hands into an awkward wave, though it’s still just as endearing as the first time. “There’s a few hours left before I need to be at the airport. Maybe we can grab lunch or something?”

There’s a beat of silence as the question settles amongst them.

Andrew has to admit, this really is one of the worst days to choose to be permanently stuck in — well, not choose, since, you know how it is.

Sure, Steven never has to leave, at least not really, since he’s always right back there in Los Angeles to do it all over again.

(Plus, Andrew doesn’t have to go back to work ever again, which is a weird bonus.)

Really, the only complaint is that Andrew knows one day, whichever day that might actually be, this is going to stick. He’s going to wake up one morning and then it will be Friday, and Steven will be actually, truly _gone_.

Andrew sucks a sharp breath in. Then, like he’s supposed to, he plasters a fake smile onto his face and nods overenthusiastically once he realizes that Steven has been waiting on an answer for several moments now.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “That sounds great.”

“One last outing for the ol’ Worth It boys.”

The silence in the car as he drives allows his mind to race as he thinks about his, you know, circumstances. Maybe he should tell Steven about this.

Something like a casual: _hey, I’m stuck living in a time loop. Any advice?_ But it’s too crazy. If Steven had told him that, he’d take him to the hospital for whatever emergency testing they offer — and honestly. He doesn’t want to go through and cause all that stress just for it to all be erased the next morning.

“You okay?” Steven asks, concerned. “You seem a little out of it.”

“Yeah,” he sighs out finally. “I’ll be okay. Just thinking about how I’ll have nobody left at the office to bother with you gone.”

“There’s always Ryan and Shane.”

“Oh, right.” Andrew rolls his eyes at the joke. “As if they’re not six months away from fucking off and creating their own production company or something.”

Steven laughs softly. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Andrew says, though he doesn’t mean it in the slightest. Anything that would get Steven back into the city, he’d be fine with.

There’s another beat of silence, before Andrew glances over at Steven, only to notice that he has taken the moment to ring his hands together in his lap.

 _Interesting_ , Andrew thinks. _A new development._

He frowns slightly, but turns his attention back to the road and the now green light. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steven says, “Nervous and excited, but I’m okay. Just can’t believe the time is finally here.”

Andrew sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, “me either.”

“I’ll miss eating here,” Steven says softly as they pull into the parking lot.

Andrew knows what’s coming next.

“We’ll have to eat here when I come to visit. Like a tourist thing.”

Even the thought of Steven visiting has started to make him semi-nauseous. “Can you still call yourself a tourist if you lived here for years?” Andrew asks as he steps out of the car, like an actor just running through his lines.

At least this way, there are no surprises.

“What would you call it?” Steven asks, turning around to face Andrew. The rays of sun shine brightly, enough so that Steven has to squint in order to focus on his friend’s face.

The corners of his mouth quirk up into a smile, and it’s an image Andrew doubts he could ever get tired of it.

“I truly do not know,” Andrew says.

He knows that he’s not just talking about hypothetical tourism this time around.

✩✩✩

He’s starting to feel like that scene in Twilight where the main character sits in a chair in her bedroom and the months swirl around her. He loves Steven, he does, but the predictability is enough to drive him crazy.

It’s talk about their trip to Vegas during lunch, then a journey to the beach and a handful of sand that always ends up on the seats of his car, no matter how hard he tries to clean his pants off.

This time though, it’s Andrew that checks the clock on his phone as the minutes leading up to Steven’s flight tick away.

“Alright.” He sighs, nudging Steven with his shoulder. “It’s getting late, should probably head to the airport now, right?”

“So soon?” Steven asks, almost sadly, and the question makes Andrew freeze in his spot. “The day went by so fast,” he continues. “I wish we had more time.”

Andrew gets a little choked up, at that. He takes just a moment to calm himself, trying to remember the fact that this is just one Steven of many.

He clears his throat.

“Yeah. I get the sentiment.”

“I’ll miss you, Andrew,” Steven says. He pulls him in for an awkward, one-armed hug, sliding his hand across Andrew’s shoulders.

Andrew wraps his arm around Steven’s waist, savoring the light scent of laundry detergent and the way he fits comfortably in his grip. “I’m sure we’ll see each other sooner than you think,” he mumbles against Steven’s shoulder.

When he’s met with a curious glance, Andrew shrugs, “Just trust me on that one.”

Then, with that, he stands from the blanket they’re sitting on. “Here, let me help you up.” He offers Steven his hand.

They make their way to the car in silence, and hardly talk during the drive to the airport.

Then, right on schedule, forty-five minutes later, the two of them are standing in the middle of LAX. Steven, digging through his backpack, and Andrew, heart breaking with every passing second.

“Ah, here it is.” Steven holds the leather wallet up with a wide smile, shaking it in the slightest.

“Thought I’d forgotten it somehow,” he mouths the words along with Steven. Before he can second guess his next move, Andrew throws his arms around his friend.

“Have a safe flight,” Andrew says, politely. Then, he waves goodbye, and watches as Steven makes his way over to the airline security line.

As he does, a thought hits him.

He might be stuck like this for the rest of his life. Or, whatever this is— since he's not really living day-to-day. Just going through the motions.

God, the thought itself brings tears to his eyes.

(He’s starting to realize why Bill Murray lost his mind after however many attempts to get out of Punxsutawney.)

**_THURSDAY • TAKE FIVE_ **

Andrew has had enough. Today, when he wakes up and it’s Thursday instead of Monday, like it should be, he ignores all well wishes and enthusiastic text messages in the groupchat, instead going straight for his conversation with Steven.

**Can’t drive you today. Sorry.**

And with that, a text message that he already feels guilty about despite the fact that it will have no real consequences, he turns his phone off and goes back to bed.

For two hours, that is, until —

“Did you seriously bail on Steven?”

The question stirs Andrew from his nap. He blinks at the harsh light pouring into his bedroom, vision finally adjusting so that he can just barely make out a familiar figure at the foot of his bed.

“How the hell did you get into my apartment, Adam?” Andrew groans, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He sits up in bed, the duvet pooling around his waist as he stares up at his coworker.

“Spare key.” Adam rolls his eyes, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and then Andrew remembers the one week he was out of town and needed someone to water his plants.

(He really should move his key.)

_Under the mat is such an obvious place_ , he thinks, and makes a mental note to take care of that some day.

“But, Andrew. Seriously?” Adam continues. “A text message?”

Andrew lifts his shoulders into an indifferent shrug.

It’s not like _he’s_ the one that leaves every night.

“He’s crushed.”

“Adam.” Andrew groans out, falling back onto the mattress. He takes a moment to yawn, before turning onto his side so that they can continue this awkward stare-down.

“It’s fine. I’ll make it up to him tomorrow with breakfast or something.”

“What?” Adam asks, frowning.

Then, as if something has clicked into place for him, he gently sits at the edge of the mattress, looking at Andrew in a way that frustratingly reminds the latter of a mom.

“Andrew,” Adam starts slowly, “tomorrow he’ll be in New York — you do realize that, right?”

“Of course I do, Adam.” Andrew spits out, the words coming out much harsher than either of them expected.

For the first time, Andrew has realized that his grief over Steven leaving isn’t just sadness.

It’s anger.

“Yes, I know that he’s fucking leaving me. Okay? I get it. So maybe just _back off_ , alright?”

Adam takes a deep breath, sighing it out as he hesitantly reaches a hand out to softly touch Andrew’s covered leg.

“Andrew, it’s not just _you_ he’s leaving.” He says, tone much softer and less accusatory than when they had started.

“We’re all sad he’s moving, but it’s his decision. Not ours.”

“But I mean, we’re in the _height_ of Worth It-”

“Both of us know this isn’t just about Worth It, Andrew.” Adam interrupts politely, before patting the mattress next to him and standing up. “But I get it. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were hurting this much. Just... just talk to him, okay? I have the feeling that he’ll be more understanding than you realize.”

Then, Adam winces. “Or you know, would have been, before you blew him off without saying goodbye.”

Andrew doesn’t have anything to say in response. Because, really, he knows it was a dick move.

“I’ll check on you later,” Adam says, before leaving the bedroom. The door shuts behind him with a soft click and Andrew is once again left alone with his thoughts.

After that, it takes fifteen minutes for Andrew to work up the confidence to turn his phone back on.

He’s met with several confused text messages from Steven and the pit in his stomach only grows when he sees the notification for a new voicemail, too.

“Fuck.”

\- _What?_

_\- I don’t understand. I mean, I do, but like… Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?_

_\- Andrew?_

_\- At least answer me so that I know you’re okay._

Hesitantly, he clicks on the play button for the voicemail, letting the phone drop onto the pillow next to him as Steven’s voice fills up his otherwise empty apartment.

“ _Hey, Andrew. It’s Steven_.” There’s a sigh and some shuffling around before his voice cuts clear again. “ _I mean, of course you know that. Uh. I’m just calling because it’s been about an hour since you cancelled on me and like... whatever._

_I mean, I know that whatever’s going on is probably important because you wouldn’t do this to me if it wasn’t, you know? Uh. I mean, I hope that… you know, you wouldn’t. Um._

_Whatever, I was really just calling to make sure that you’re okay. I’m worried about you. Please let me know what’s going on._

_Okay, uh, I have to go. Adam’s going to pick me up when he’s done running some errands, I guess. So, you know. I have to get ready. Please call me back. Or maybe you can meet us at the airport once things calm down?_

_I’d like to at least get the chance to say goodbye_.” Steven’s voice cracks on the last word, and Andrew feels like the world’s shittiest friend. “ _Alright, bye_.”

“God, I’m an asshole,” Andrew says quietly. Still, he makes no move to get up or to text Steven back.

Instead, he lays in bed all day, though he does end up checking his phone incessantly for any new messages from Steven, of which there are only two:

\- _On my way to the airport. Any chance you can come say goodbye before I go?_

_\- I hope you’re okay, Andrew. I’m boarding now so I won’t see any messages until I land, but I’ll be thinking of you._

Andrew waits until exactly five minutes past Steven’s estimated departure time before sending a response. He types and deletes several times, before settling on a mediocre:

**Hey, sorry. My phone has been off all day. Sorry I couldn’t see you off. I’ll explain another time. Safe flight.**

And with that, he goes back to bed.

**_THURSDAY • TAKES SIX AND SEVEN_ **

Days Six and Seven—if Andrew has been keeping track correctly—follow the footsteps of Five. He’s had enough of this bullshit; and part of him isn’t sure that he can take another day of watching Steven leave.

It’s too much.

On day Six, as usual, he wakes up to the sound of incoming text messages from their friends. This time, though, without giving it a second thought, he reaches over and turns his phone off.

Sure, he feels guilty for not even texting Steven about his newfound need for a replacement ride, but it’s whatever.

Mostly, it’s _whatever_ because Andrew is convinced that if he looks at Steven right now, he’ll burst into tears and start blubbering about _why him_?

Aaaaand he just doesn’t need that right now.

So, today, he takes a personal day.

As in, he leaves his phone at home and drives straight for the beach. Andrew somehow manages to park near the same spot that he did on that very first day with Steven, which makes the absence of his counterpart weigh on him heavily.

Still, he finds a secluded spot in the sand, tosses his shoes onto the ground, and spends the day laying out on a blanket. Mostly, Andrew wastes his time watching the waves crash against the shore, listens to the chatter around him from the busy shore, and honestly just tries to calm down.

He tries not to think about the fact that his phone is probably blowing up back at home, and can hardly even start to imagine how Steven is reacting to all of this. On the off chance that today is the one that sticks, he’ll need to come up with a good excuse or risk losing Steven forever.

(No pressure or anything.)

That issue will be Tomorrow Andrew’s problem, he decides, laying back down.

He wakes a few hours later, obviously burnt from the sun, but part of him feels at peace. Getting stuck on a permanent summer vacation isn’t the worst way to live the rest of his life, he supposes, and decides that it’s time to head home.

When Andrew crashes that night, in his own bed this time, he doesn’t even bother to check his messages.

Whatever’s been said, has been said.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that there are probably some hurt messages from Steven and Andrew doesn’t find it worth torturing himself over for the rest of eternity, given he’s the only one that will actually remember.

✩✩✩

Thankfully, when he wakes on day Seven, there are no unread text messages.

The fact that his actions have literally no consequences for his personal relationships certainly doesn’t help the urge to blow off Steven again; so he does.

Once again, Andrew leaves his phone at home. Today, though, he drives down to San Diego.

(Los Angeles is starting to suffocate him, he thinks.)

He ends up in a bar downtown a little after one o’clock. Andrew’s never been a day-drinker, really, but then again. Being stuck in an infinite Thursday is bound to change you like that.

As he drinks top shelf whiskey that is far too expensive on a glorified Youtuber’s salary, he thinks about his situation.

 _Of all days_ , he wonders, _why did it have to be today?_

And hey, he knows he asked for it — “I wish we had more time” and all, but the universe couldn’t have delayed Steven’s flight and _then_ hit the loop button?

What’s the purpose of giving Andrew more time, just to repeatedly make Steven leave in the end? It’s not fair and he doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get it.

“What’s on your mind?” The bartender asks, pulling Andrew from his thoughts.

She leans against the countertop, dropping the rag she was using to clean next to her.

At this point, Andrew is one of few customers and he gets it — there are only so many things to fake clean on a dead afternoon; talking to the obviously sad customer is a move he’d make, too.

Except he doesn’t know how to answer the question.

The short answer is that there’s a lot. But she won’t remember this conversation tomorrow, he knows, and needs to get this off of his chest before he explodes.

So: “I’m stuck in a time loop.”

“Oh,” the bartender—Katie, according to her name tag—says. Andrew half expects her to walk away, taking his response as a thinly veiled _leave me alone_ , or to maybe just outright call him crazy. Instead, she just nods.

“Yeah, that’ll get to a person.”

“Wait.” Andrew frowns. “You believe me?”

Katie shrugs. “I’ve heard crazier. If it can happen to Bill Murray, it can happen to anybody, right?”

“Groundhog Day.” Andrew appreciates the reference. “Classic.”

Since he doesn’t know what else to say, he just finishes his drink. Then, he sets the empty glass down on the wooden countertop with a _thud_.

Katie pours him another round and pushes the glass back towards him. “How many days has it been so far?”

“I don’t know, a week, maybe?”

“An infinite Thursday. That has to suck.”

“You’re telling me.” Andrew snorts.

“Okay, so I think the next step is to ask yourself: why today?” She places her chin on the palm of her hand, looking up at Andrew curiously. “Who, or what, is your Rita?”

Andrew opts for another drink instead of answering the question — an action of which makes Katie raise an eyebrow.

She stands up, pointing a finger at Andrew. “Okay, so that reaction tells me you know exactly why you’re stuck. Spill it.”

“My friend Steven is leaving for New York today,” Andrew explains quietly. “I’m supposed to drive him to the airport in, uh, three-ish hours,” he continues, pulling out his phone to confirm the time. “But I can’t watch him leave anymore, so for the past couple of days, I’ve bailed on him.”

Katie thinks it over for a second. “Okay, well that’s shitty of you,” she decides.

“It’s not like he’s going to remember,” Andrew says, trying to defend himself. It’s pointless, though, because they both know that she’s right.

“Still.” She shrugs. “You shouldn’t treat somebody you love like that.”

“I- I never said anything about love.”

“Oh, _please_. If you’re really stuck in an endless Thursday loop that ends with you driving this guy to the airport, which is _clearly_ crushing you, then I think it’s pretty obvious you have some unresolved feelings for him.”

Andrew takes the opportunity to finish his drink. Instead of reaching for the container to fill it up, however, Katie reaches across the bar to grab one of Andrew’s hands.

“Just talk to him,” she says, meeting his gaze. “Talk to him, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life stuck like this and even you have to admit _that_ sounds worse than potentially being rejected.”

✩✩✩

Day Seven ultimately ends with Andrew drunk, alone, and on the beach. He’s definitely not sober, has no way to Uber home, and he’s actually sort of interested to see if not falling asleep in his own bed is enough to break this vicious cycle.

So, in the name of research, he finds a comfortable spot of sand, and finally passes out.

**_THURSDAY • TAKE EIGHT_ **

Unsurprisingly, Andrew wakes in his own bed the next morning. It’s obvious enough without checking his phone that today is, in fact, yet another Thursday. His head is pounding — so he guesses this temporal clusterfuck hasn’t figured out the secret to instantly curing hangovers.

Still, since brushing Steven off and staying in bed actually didn’t make Andrew feel any better, he decides to give the whole, you know, airport taxi gig another go.

However, Andrew isn’t ready to take Katie’s advice into consideration yet, so he effectively silences any urging conscience whispers to open up to Steven about what’s happening. Instead, he reverts back to his first day routine — shower, lunch, beach trip.

He makes all the same jokes and waits for all of Steven’s same punchlines. The way Andrew sees it is now purely through the lens of denial.

One of these days is going to have to stick, right? This can’t be the rest of his life. So, he wants to do his part in making sure that he doesn’t wake up one Friday and find his friendship with Steven completely ruined.

Of course, Andrew still sighs when he sees Steven pull the phone out of his back pocket in his peripheral. He knows what’s coming next.

“Alright. We should probably get going.”

 _So soon?_ Andrew knows he’s supposed to ask.

He doesn’t. He just nods.

“I’ll miss you, Andrew.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Andrew leans his head against Steven’s shoulder for a moment. Then, when they both pull away, he grabs Steven’s forearms to prevent him from moving too far.

Andrew takes a deep breath, preparing himself, before speaking. “I spent a lot of today wishing that we had more time,” he says, meeting Steven’s gaze. Before the latter can comment though, Andrew continues. “And part of me still does. But I’m also very thankful for the time we have had together. Plus, I just wanted to say that I think you’re going to crush it in New York.”

“I know,” Steven jokes. But, because he’s Steven, he can’t help the sincerity of his following statement. “Thank you, Andy. That means a lot.”

Even once they’re at the airport, the warmth in Andrew’s chest never fades. He watches dutifully as Steven walks over to the security line, waiting for him to disappear amongst the crowd, and then Andrew goes home.

For the first time in a few days, Andrew actually feels okay with how the day has ended. And he certainly wouldn’t mind getting stuck with this version of events.

He’s on good terms with Steven again, and he hopes that’s enough.

He really, really needs it to be.

Once he’s in bed that night, tangled in his comforter and on the verge of falling asleep, he takes a moment to send a brief text message.

**I know you’re somewhere over the state of California by now, and hopefully will read this tomorrow morning, but I hope you have a good flight.**

**Try not to forget about us back home, won’t you?**

**_THURSDAY • TAKES NINE — TWELVE_ **

****

When Andrew wakes up to yet another stupid joke from Ryan about getting mugged in a city park, he cries.

Full sobs rack through his body, complete with snotty sweatshirt sleeves and a dehydration headache before he even steps foot out of bed.

Of course, he cries a little harder once he gets a notification from Steven asking about his estimated arrival time. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Andrew sends a message about needing to shower before he leaves.

Despite his soured mood, Andrew does manage to get out of bed and even takes a shower. When he’s done, and his face is no longer red and splotchy from his long overdue breakdown, he pulls on a sweatshirt and leaves for Steven’s.

He still wants to make sure that he doesn’t ruin anything between them — and admittedly has gotten all of his desire to run away out of his system already, but fuck.

He’s tried everything: driving him, not driving him, telling Steven he’s okay with his leaving, getting drunk to cope, so why is nothing working?

Then, he realizes that he still hasn’t taken Katie’s advice from before. So, as he pulls in front of Steven’s apartment building, Andrew contemplates the best way to approach the subject.

His first attempt goes something like this: they’re sitting in the parking lot of the usual restaurant—Andrew having decided to just start working his way through the menu at this point—Steven’s hand is on the door, fumbling to find the handle as he makes a comment about coming back when he visits LA again.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Andrew says. His voice must give away some of his nervousness, because he’s met with a curious gaze from Steven.

 _Do not back out now,_ he tells himself. _Just rip off the bandaid._

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up, Andy? Everything okay?”

“Okay.” Andrew sighs forcefully before turning to face Steven in his seat. “I have something to tell you. And — and it’s going to sound downright crazy but I just need you to listen.”

Steven’s hand falls from the door.

So far, so good.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m stuck in a time loop.”

Steven blinks. “Uh — what?”

“A time loop. Like, you know. A movie plot device, basically. That one scene near the end of Doctor Strange, kind of.”

When he’s met with a blank look, Andrew continues, growing exasperated with every passing second. “Happy Death Day? The Last Day of Summer? Literally the plot of Groundhog Day, now I _know_ you know that one—”

“I’m sorry?” Steven interrupts, shaking his head. Then, to Andrew’s frustration, he frowns. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, Steven,” he says, voice taking an edge to it. “Why would I lie to you about something like this?”

“I—“ Steven goes to say something, before closing his mouth once more. Finally, he shakes his head. “I don’t know why you’re getting _mad_ at me, Andrew.”

“Because this is stupid!” Andrew finally snaps, regretting the words the moment he says them.

But by then, it’s too late. They’re out and Steven is looking understandably sad and Andrew can’t help but from digging himself a deeper hole.

“I mean, why did you even ask me to drive you to the airport in the first place? Why _me_?” Andrew asks, finally.

“Because you’re my friend!” Steven answers back, voice rising. He tears his gaze away for a moment before looking back at Andrew, who is surprised to see Steven‘s eyes watering.

“You’re my friend,” Steven repeats, voice cracking on the last word, “you selfish asshole.”

And with that, Steven climbs out of the car.

✩✩✩

The next attempt only goes marginally better. Nobody ends in tears this time, but Andrew wouldn’t exactly call the conversation a success.

Trial number two of telling Steven happens at the airport. Lunch goes on without a hitch, which Andrew is thankful for, but as he watches Steven search for his wallet, the unspoken bubbles out of him.

“Hey, Steven,” Andrew starts, the words unconfident and unsure.

When Steven looks up at him, which he imagines as his cue to go on, Andrew takes a deep breath. “Um, so I tried to tell you something yesterday but it didn’t go the way that I planned.”

“My yesterday, not yours,” He adds at the inevitable confusion on Steven’s face as he tries to recall what Andrew is referring to. The given explanation probably doesn’t help either.

Still, Andrew continues. “Anyway, uh. I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

A wide smile takes over Steven’s face, his fingers falling from the backpack’s zipper.

“I love you too, Andrew,” he says softly.

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

Andrew can practically feel his eyebrows shoot into his hairline, eyes widening at his coworker’s confession.

“You do?” He asks, almost as if to confirm he heard correctly.

“Yeah!” Steven grins. “You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my last day in LA with anybody else.”

Okay, ouch.

Andrew swallows harshly at the clarification. Of course that’s what he meant. Andrew’s cheeks burn a dark pink as he nods vigorously, “Right, yeah.”

Steven looks as if he’s about to say something, before he pauses to check the time again. “Shoot, I should go,” Steven says, shouldering the bag onto his back. “Um, thanks for driving me,” he adds. “And I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” Andrew nods. “See you around.”

Of course, the _next_ day doesn’t go as well as he’d planned either. Same scene: Andrew and Steven standing at the airport, only a few feet apart.

Steven is searching for his ticket _again_ and Andrew takes this as his chance. His one and only chance.

(Until tomorrow.)

“Don’t get on the plane.”

Steven’s movements still and he blinks up at Andrew. Finally, his hand drops from the zipper of the bag, the words finally settling in. “What?”

“I mean it,” Andrew says, finding his voice.

Even at the incredulous expression on Steven’s face, he pushes through. Straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat, he continues: “Don’t go. Stay here. In Los Angeles. With me.”

“Andrew,” Steven starts slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want you to leave.”

It’s out in the open, explicitly this time.

He figures there’s no way for Steven to not understand what he’s saying. This is it, now.

Steven has to stay. Andrew asked him to.

Except that’s not how real life works.

“How can you say that to me?” Steven asks quietly. Time seems to move in slow motion for Andrew, as he watches Steven close up the bag and sling it over his shoulder.

“I thought you would be supportive, Andrew. I thought you were my _friend_.”

“No, no,” Andrew rushes out, watching Steven pull the handle of his suitcase closer to him. Fuck. “I _am_ your friend, Steven, and I’m _trying_ to be supportive but—”

“Well, you’re not doing a good job then,” Steven huffs out.

“I don’t understand.” Andrew shakes his head. “I thought you wanted me to ask you to stay.”

Steven sighs, and pushes his glasses up further onto his nose.

“Andrew, I don’t know what you expected me to say,” he says earnestly. “Listen, I need to go. I’ll — I don’t know. Maybe I’ll text you or something.” Steven finishes, and walks away without another word.

Andrew, meanwhile, stands there like a fish out of water, gaping at his friend’s retreating figure.

As it turns out, maybe Steven had a point when he called him an asshole.

(That night, Andrew makes a list of what mistakes he’s made over the course of the last two weeks. Because, clearly, he’s doing something wrong. Which means that he needs a new approach if he’s going to ever get on with his life.)

✩✩✩

Day Twelve starts the same as the others.

You know the drill. Supportive text messages, a shower, lunch, beach, blah blah blah. Honestly, at this point, even Andrew is ready to move away from this stupid city.

For today’s confession though, Andrew tries a softer approach.

He waits until they’re watching the sun reflect against the surface of the ocean, comfortable silence settled amongst them.

Then, he turns to Steven.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi?” Steven smiles.

Andrew takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands against the fabric of his jeans as he prepares to start this conversation for the fourth time.

“I have something to say, and it’s going to sound crazy, but just listen to the entire thing before you call the psych ward on me, okay?”

Steven laughs again, but nods.

“I’m stuck.” He waves his hands around at their surroundings for emphasis. “Here. Today. Thursday. Every morning for the last I don’t know how many days, I’ve woken up and it’s been Thursday. Everything happens almost in the exact same way.

I mean, except for when I’ve ruined things and made you mad at me. But moving on.” Andrew holds his hand up in a ‘no questions’ sort of motion, as he lists the day’s events. “I wake up to texts from our friends, saying goodbye. Then you text me and ask when I’m coming. We always eat lunch together and every day, for some goddamn reason that I can’t figure out, you ask if I remember the Worth It Vegas trip.

Then we come here, to the beach.” Andrew takes a deep breath, before continuing. “And then at some point, you look at your phone and say that it’s time for us to go. So, we go to the airport, we hug, you get on your plane, and then I wake up the next morning and do it _all over again_.”

Andrew is fully crying by this point, which only causes him to frustratedly wipe away his tears when he’s done ranting.

He’s _so_ over everything about this situation.

“And honestly, I know that I’m going crazy. But please, just… just tell me that you believe me.”

He looks at Steven expectantly.

“I do,” Steven says after a moment of silence. He places his hand on Andrew’s arm, trying to comfort him. “I believe you. Maybe — you know, maybe we can brainstorm ideas of how to fix this. That’s what would happen in a movie like this, right?”

Andrew nods, dumbfounded.

“Okay.” Steven sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, “Um. Okay, so tell me everything that’s happened so far.”

And so, Andrew does.

He talks about _everything_ — or, you know, almost everything. About blowing him off, Adam coming to the apartment. Even parts of his conversation with the bartender, and every attempt that’s been made to tell Steven about it so far.

(Okay. Andrew gives him a highly summarized version of them, at least.)

Steven can only stare wide-eyed at him

when he’s finished.

“That is… a lot to take in,” he admits slowly. But then, Steven looks at Andrew, with his messy hair and the bags underneath his eyes and decides to take a leap of faith. “I can’t imagine having to go through all of that. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Andrew mumbles. “And, for the record, I _am_ sorry for blowing you off and making you Uber to the airport.”

Steven grins, against all odds. “You’re lucky I forgive you.”

“It’s not like you’re going to remember this anyway.” Andrew groans. “Sorry, I know that you’re being as supportive as you can be. I think I’ve just lost my mind already.”

“It’s okay.” Steven crinkles his nose. “It’s just weird that there are versions of me in your mind that don’t exist and that I’ll never remember what we did or talked about.”

“Trust me, it’s weirder to be on this side of it all.”

Steven softens at his words. He moves closer to Andrew so that their thighs bump against one another, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Drew.”

“S’not your fault.”

“Okay, so let’s think. What could be your _thing_?” Steven snaps his fingers together as he thinks. “What did that bartender call it? Your Pita?”

“Rita.” Andrew rolls his eyes, but smiles – and, judging from the proud look on Steven’s face, that’s what he had been aiming for. “But, honestly. I don’t know. I thought it was you, but even after our best day, I’m still here.”

“Our best day?”

“Yeah. I think it was sometime last week,” Andrew leans back into the sand as he explains.

“We had a talk at the airport. Ended on a pretty good note. I wouldn’t have minded if that one stuck.”

Steven runs a hand through his hair. Then, he follows Andrew’s lead and lays back in the sand. “Okay, but obviously this entire thing has to do with me leaving for New York. Right?”

“I guess so.”

“I thought you said that you’d figured that out though. Like, being okay with it.” Steven looks over at Andrew, almost as if to check if that information was true.

“Yeah.” Andrew heaves a sigh.

Then, more convincingly: “Yeah, I’m okay with it. I know that I’ll miss you but I also know we’ll see each other again. Maybe FaceTime in the meanwhile.”

Andrew smiles, knocking his shoulder against Steven’s. “I didn’t expect you to live fifteen minutes away the rest of my life. I think three thousand miles just caught me a little off guard.”

Steven laughs at that.

“Maybe we just needed to talk it out,” he suggests a moment later. “You know, and be completely honest with each other. Which is why I’m going to tell you that I’m scared about moving, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Who else am I going to drag to lunch every day?” Steven grins. Then: “But maybe now that we’ve gotten everything off of our chests, you’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” Andrew shrugs, though he doesn’t feel particularly confident about it.

There’s a beat of silence before Steven speaks again. “That is everything, right? No other secret eating away at your soul?”

It’s a joke, Andrew knows, but he freezes at the question. “Uh,” he stumbles over the words, “No, I think — I think that’s it.”

“Cool.” Steven nods. Then, seemingly out of habit, he checks his phone. “Shoot, we should get going if I want to make my plane.”

“Yeah.” Andrew agrees. “You’re right.”

Just like every other time, the drive to the airport is silent, both mulling over the events of the day. Andrew, finally relieved to have a Steven that is on the same page as him, and Steven still trying to wrap his head around the craziness.

Somehow, in the midst of all this, they fall back into the routine of the day once they’re inside the airport.

“I’ll miss you, Andrew,” Steven says, pulling him into a hug. When Andrew freezes despite the familiarity of the touch, Steven leans back just far enough to look into his eyes. “I’ve done that before?”

“Only a few times,” Andrew confirms.

“Just when I thought I was an original,” Steven jokes, earning a genuine laugh in response, as he steps backwards.

In a burst of emotion, Andrew grasps at the fabric of Steven’s sweater and gently tugs him back into the hug. “I hope I don’t see you again tomorrow — you know, in like _the_ nicest way possible.”

“I know.” Steven grins, patting him on the back. “I get it.”

The hug is cut short by Andrew telling Steven that he should get going if he doesn’t want to miss his plane. He waits until he loses sight of his favorite foodie in the crowd, and then leaves, a smile on his face.

He has a good feeling about tomorrow.

**_THURSDAY • TAKE THIRTEEN_ **

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Andrew is starting to understand why the main character of every time loop movie has so many mental breakdowns over the course of a two hour period. Because, even after telling Steven—per Katie’s suggestion—nothing!

There’s no change.

He’s tired of this. Tired of being tired.

And he’s certainly tired of freaking out over the impossible-turned-possible. There’s not even any energy left to fuck off and enjoy a reality where there’s no consequences for his actions.

So, today, he slowly dresses. It’s a painstaking process, pulling on some version of the same outfit he’s worn over the last two weeks.

When Andrew picks Steven up fifteen minutes later, only with a bag of McDonald’s this time, he proposes that they ditch lunch and spend the day at the beach.

“There are no views like this in New York,” he even goes as far as to joke once they’re sitting on the sand.

Of course, they have a good day together. A good would-be last day. The two of them laugh, share stories, and end up talking about everything that crosses their minds — eventually even making their way to Andrew’s current circumstances.

Steven, just like yesterday, takes it in stride. He’s supportive and offers to help figure out what’s going on. It’s a _good_ day.

It’s not until Andrew is standing in the airport lobby for what feels like the hundredth time (and truly hopes that, once this is over, he never has to come back to LAX), that he loses it.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“What —?” Steven freezes, before realizing what Andrew is talking about. He takes a deep breath, pausing the search for his ticket. “Oh. That. Hey, Andrew, I mean, I get it.”

“No!” Andrew protests loudly, earning the attention of some passersby. He shakes his head, trying to stay calm, before trying again.

“No, Steven. You don’t. You know, earlier, I didn’t even tell you the worst part.”

Steven doesn’t say anything.

“The worst part is that every fucking day I have to drop you off at the airport and watch you leave and I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore. This doesn’t make sense and I’m confused and I just want to get this over with. Because honestly, Ste. I can’t do it again.”

“Andrew,” Steven starts, but there are no words that come to mind that could help the situation, so he just shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

When Andrew doesn’t say anything in response, Steven casts a glance at the growing TSA line. “I should —”

“Get going if you want to catch your flight. I know,” Andrew interrupts. He sighs, wiping away a fallen tear. “It’s okay, you know. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Andrew pivots on his heel, ready to walk away and just crawl in bed, but he feels bad about the way he left things. Even if Steven doesn’t remember, he doesn’t like knowing that there’s a version of the day where things are weird between them.

However, he doesn’t turn back around, knowing what waits for him—the sight of Steven heading farther and farther away—will only make him hurt more. Instead, Andrew finds a nearby bench to sit on. When he does, his head drops into his hands as everything hits him all at once.

 _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_.

The words echo in his head like the world’s most pathetic mantra and Andrew takes a couple moments in an attempt to regain his composure.

“— Andrew.”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. _I really am going crazy. I’m even starting to hear voices._

“Andrew.”

Despite knowing that it’s all in his head, Andrew looks up. To his surprise, Steven is standing a few feet in front of him.

He scrambles to his feet, but doesn’t step any closer. “What—” Andrew starts, voice hardly above a whisper. He’s distinctly aware of the push and pull of LAX around him, but he still can’t tear his gaze away from Steven.

“What are you doing?” He asks. “Shouldn’t you be—”

“I couldn't do it,” Steven admits. “Not after what you said.” He sighs, stepping forward.

Andrew mimics him, until they’re close enough that he could reach out to touch him if he wanted.

He doesn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Steven tries, again. “I don’t know what’s going on or why it’s this day but—” he falters here, and pulls out his phone to check the time, before shoving it back into his pocket. “We have six hours to figure it out. I want to help.”

“We tried that already,” Andrew reminds him. “Yesterday. At the beach.”

“I know.” Steven takes a moment to think, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. Then, with an encouraging smile: “But, you know. I actually have a good feeling about this one.”

A little less than twenty minutes later, the two of them end up in a 24-hour diner just down the street. All of Steven's bags are stuffed into the backseat of Andrew’s car, abandoned in favor of stuffing their faces with overpriced breakfast foods.

Then, once the waitress has cleared their plates, they talk — again. Every once in a while Steven lets out a disbelieving _I can’t believe I’m missing my plane._

“Do you regret it?” Andrew can’t help but finally ask, once they’ve got their makeshift list of reasons why Andrew is stuck scribbled onto a clean napkin.

(He needs to find a cure for a zombie outbreak before it’s too late is reason #3. He’s dead and this is his version of hell is _not_ a reassuring reason #6 but, after everything, he can’t rule it out.)

Steven meets his gaze.

There's something in it that Andrew can’t read, but he has no time to reflect on it before Steven is shaking his head. “Actually?” He asks. “No, not at all.”

“Really?” Andrew frowns.

“You’re my friend,” Steven goes on to explain. “My best friend. I know that you’re really struggling with this. What kind of friend would I be if I knew you were having some sort of life crisis and I just left you crying in an airport?”

“I wasn’t crying,” Andrew protests, gaze shifting to just about anything besides the man next to him.

“Right.” Steven bites back a grin. “Okay, left you _not_ crying in an airport.”

When Andrew doesn’t respond, Steven continues. “Anyway. So let me get this clear. First couple of days, normal, skipped out on driving me, and then tried to tell me? Right?”

Andrew nods.

“How exactly did that go down?”

“The first time, I think I explained it poorly because you thought I was joking. We ended up getting in a fight.” Andrew winces, still feeling bad about that one.

“The next I —” he pauses, knowing that the next words out of his mouth _should_ be ‘told you that I loved you’ but Andrew isn’t sure he’s ready for that.

Steven catches on to his hesitation though, because he’s _Steven_ , and reaches across the table to grab Andrew’s hand. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Andrew takes a deep breath. “I told you that I love you and you said that you loved me, too.”

Steven freezes, which of course makes Andrew only feel more awkward about everything, and he pulls his hand away, instead clasping his hands in his lap.

“And then you said that, of course you love me, because I’m your best friend.”

“Oh,” Steven almost exhales.

“Yeah.”

“And did you-” Steven searches Andrew’s face for an answer to the question he’s not sure he wants to ask. But, he swallows his fear and continues, knowing that it’s this or getting his memory erased at the end of the night and putting Andrew through another day.

“Is that how you meant it? In a —”

“No,” Andrew cuts him off. “I meant that I am _in_ love with you.”

“Oh.” Steven repeats, pulling his hand back. He takes a drink of his water as he thinks of what to say. “I didn’t know that.”

“That was kind of the idea.” Andrew’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable.”

Steven frowns. “No, I’m not — I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“Andrew, you’re an idiot.” Steven rolls his eyes. “I’m clearly in love with you, too. I just ditched my flight to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.” Andrew says, intelligently. “Wait - what did you mean, then? About not knowing what to do?”

Steven flushes pink.

“Well,” he starts, fingers playing with the first object in front of him, a nervous habit, which just so happens to be his crumbled up straw wrapper.

“I don’t want to end up not remembering our first kiss.”

 _That_ was certainly unexpected.

Andrew laughs incredulously. For a second, part of him wonders if this is just the insanity getting to him, or some elaborate dream within a dream. But, when Steven slides across the booth seat, hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt in order to pull him for a kiss, he knows it’s not.

A few seconds later, Steven backs away, leaving Andrew far redder than he had started the night. “I thought you didn’t want to forget it.”

Steven shrugs, but a smile plays at his lips. “Like I said, I have a good feeling about this one.” Then: “And, if I do forget, at least you know to make the first move next time.”

“Unnecessarily rude,” Andrew huffs. “But okay.”

Then, just because he can, he leans in to softly kiss Steven again.

“Should we head back to your apartment?” Steven asks, dropping his hand to the table in front of them so that he can intertwine their fingers together. “You’ve had a long day and it’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Andrew stumbles over the word. “Yeah, let’s go.”

When they get back to Andrew’s apartment, Steven grabs his hand again, tugging him into the living room. He puts on a movie, forgoing any with obvious references to weird temporal twists, and cuddles up to Andrew.

Before long, both of their eyes grow heavy. Steven’s head dips against Andrew’s shoulder, light snores falling out of his mouth, and sleep finds Andrew shortly after.

**_FRIDAY • TAKE ONE ( & ONLY)_ **

Steven is the first to wake.

He first notices a particularly painful crick in his neck, probably from falling asleep on a couch instead of a bed, because Steven is basically an old man now, and — wait.

He moves to shake Andrew awake, repeating that _they’re still together_ and _oh my gosh, it’s Friday_.

When it finally sinks in, Andrew tears up. A mix of happy and sad tears — the former from the fact that time has _finally_ moved on, the latter because Steven is here, in Los Angeles, instead of New York, like he should be, because of _him_.

“Andrew? Are you okay?”

Andrew nods. “Yeah.” He looks at Steven, whose bed head sticks up wildly in every direction. Any other time, and the sight would’ve made Andrew smile.

“But that means that the only way for me to move on was to hold you back.”

“What?”

“I kept you from getting on your flight,” Andrew says quietly.

Steven scoots closer to Andrew, hand finding hand. “You didn’t make me do anything. _You_ don’t make my decisions for me,” he explains calmly. “I did this because I care about you.”

Andrew blinks, eyelashes matted with tears. “I care about you, too.”

Steven reaches up to tenderly brush a fallen tear off of his cheek. “So. Time has moved on. What now?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew shakes his head as he thinks over the question. Then, without saying anything else, he reaches for his phone.

“What are you doing?” Steven asks, confused, only to be met with further silence.

Andrew types with what seems like record determination, tongue peaking out past his lips as he concentrates.

After what feels like forever, he speaks up.

“Okay,” he says. “Fixed it.”

“Fixed what?”

“I bought you a new flight ticket,” Andrew states casually. “Leaves tomorrow at noon, I hope that’s okay.”

“Andrew, you did what?” Steven asks, mouth falling open. He searches his face for any sign of joking, though he knows Andrew isn’t like that. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not going to stop you from living your dream, Steven,” Andrew says quietly. “I’ve been so selfish, wanting you to stay behind just because I wasn’t ready for things to change. But I’m not going to let you put your life on hold for me.”

Steven doesn’t say anything in response, only staring at him in disbelief. For a moment, Andrew worries, thinking that perhaps he’s overstepped or made a wrong move.

Then: “I love you.”

Andrew crinkles his nose, but smiles. “Gross.”

Steven decidedly chooses to ignore the comment, already thinking about his new travel plans.

He excitedly pats Andrew’s leg when he realizes something. “Hey, you can come visit in a few weeks when I get my apartment all decorated!” Steven smiles, and Andrew knows that he’s made the right decision.

“I think I like that plan.”

“Good.” Steven leans in to kiss Andrew. “Me too.”


End file.
